November

The leaves are speckled yellow gold          

Scattering dust on field, so cold                  

Where is the summer sun's chatter            

As sky turns grey and lake iced blue          

Birds and bees have flown away, true        

Late autumn serves harvest platter            

Filled with melancholy.   Night clings          

Of ripeness.   Awaiting sweet sting             

Of last breaths.  How you live matters     

Sugar Maple Tree

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Nove Otto.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments.